Chapter 4
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Sirius came awake slowly, aware of warmth at his back,
sheets bunched up uncomfortably at his knees. There were a lot of things wrong
with the scenario, but it was taking his head a lot longer than normal to work
out what exactly those things might be.
He didn't like beds. Not in human form.
Twelve years of sleeping on the ground had put him off certain creature
comforts. It was too easy to roll out of them in the midst of nightmares, of
which he had plenty. They were almost always exclusively placed in the center
of the room, exposed and elevated. Like padded altars, beds offered up human
sacrifices to anyone with door opening capabilities. Given the gothic décor of
his childhood bedroom, the image had taken root quite easily.
The warmth at his back sighed in its sleep, and the hairs on the back of
Sirius' neck prickled as they stood up straight on end. He didn't like people
touching him, either. It was ironic considering the amount of time he'd spent
fantasizing about something as simplistic as a hug during his time in prison.
Maybe all those years of isolation had left him overly sensitive to the feel of
someone else on his skin, he didn't know.
Before his world had broken, he'd been careless with his affection. But in the
fractured reality after his escape, fingers felt like an Inquisition. Hugs, a
breach of security. Touches, little tendrils of hostility that probed for
weaknesses.
It was about the only bright point of being dead. Being able to touch without
actually touching.
"Sirius?" Remus' voice was slurred in sleepiness. A hand tightened around his
chest and Sirius could feel Remus' forehead against the middle of his back.
And then everything made sense again. Holy shit. Dead. He was dead.
Remus' hand passed right through him and landed with a soft thud on the sheet
below him.
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"So, I assume Professor Snape covered some of the basics with you?"
"Basics?"
"What to expect before I throw the spell at you? How to prepare yourself
for the intrusion? What kinds of memories to expect and how to manipulate what
I get? You did discuss meditation techniques with him, right?"
"It was Snape. Not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack."
"And what excatly does that mean?"
"It means that he told me that it was a bit like resisting the Imperius
Curse and then he threw Legilimens at me."
"He did what?"
"If it makes you feel any better, he got really short with me too for
getting angry at having my most private and embarassing moments relived and
exposed. Apparently, I don't try hard enough. My being a lazy bastard brat and
all. Oh, and have I mentioned that I'm painfully slow and stupid to boot? Your
work's definitely cut out for you."
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Remus sat down heavily in the chair across from Harry, feeling more world weary
than was probably strictly necessary. Best laid plans and all that. Not only
had Snape managed to make the whole learning expereince a decidedly negative
one for Harry, he'd also made it tripily hard for anyone attempting to teach
the little snot after him.
There were loads of things that Snape excelled at, and Remus would be the first
to acknowledge them. The man was brilliant at potions. And he, for one, praised
a higher being he wasn't entirely sure existed for every chance he had to take
the Wolfsbane Potion, no matter how noxious the bloody thing tasted.
Snape was also a genuis at Occulumency. How else could the bastard have been a
spy for so many years? The man had saved countless people with his inside
information, with great personal risk to himself. It was inside knowledge of
Voldemort's plans that had even saved Remus' hide on a few rather memorable
occasions. Remus was a bit awed by and envious of the man's sheer talent at
keeping his mind safeguarded against intrusion.
But teaching? Remus tunnelled a hand through his hair. The man was just not cut
out for the profession. If everyone in the world had a weakness, Snape's was
most definitely an extreme lack of patience, and on many occasions, a complete
lack of compassion.
"So," Harry started out, a sullen look plastered on his face, "I
take it you're not just going to scream Legilimens at me."
No, he most certainly wasn't. Given what the brat had already experienced, it
would be counterproductive. He wanted Harry to want to learn how to do this,
and antagonizing the child with spells that immeadiately put him on the defence
would not accomplish that at all.
"I'm going to have you cast Legilimens on me." A first time
attempt at the spell couldn't be too strong, and Remus was certain he'd be able
to direct the thread of the spell to a memory that wasn't particularly damning,
even if he wasn't all that terribly skilled at Occulumency himself.
"You're sure?" Harry shot him a covert look from across the table
that clearly stated that the boy thought he'd lost his marbles. Who knew?
Sitting in some cabin in the States, after having essentially kidnapped the Boy
Who Lived because he'd gotten sick to death of the ongoing argument in his head
about the boy's welfare probably qualified him for a padded wall or two. And
that wasn't even going into his dreams or this morning's dream in particular.
"Yes, just remember that when you cast the spell, you have control over
what type of memories will surface." A simplified explanation, maybe,
since there were thousands of types of memories to go with the thousands of
different emotions and combinations of emotions. But for now, it would do. Give
it some time to sink in, and the kid would piece it together himself. The boy
was not stupid. Sullen, difficult, and angry, sure. But Harry could obviously
accomplish great things when his mind was set to the task and when he was
determined to master the subject at hand.
"I can control the kinds of memories." Harry's eyes narrowed slightly
in concentration and Remus attempted to clear his mind as the boy pulled out
his wand. "Okay. One, two, three...Legilimens!"
Remus braced himself for an attack, but it wasn't so much an attack that hit
him as an overwhelming sense of curiostiy. His first meeting with James and
James' attempt to stick a wet finger up his nose. The time he and the rest of
the Marauders snuck into Lily's dorm under James' cloak and mooned all the
girls present.
James getting weak-kneed at learning that he was going to be a father at
twenty. Feeling queasy and befuddled by James' insistance that they all be
present for little Harry's first appearance in the world. Sirius turning his
favorite dog-eared book into a burping rag for the baby.
Arguing with Sirius over whether or not the Potters needed to be in on any of
the Order business. Having a drag down, bitch all fight with James about the
stupidity of remaining in England with a baby when a madman was out for his
blood. Curt words with Lily over the wisdom of trusting blindly.
Standing in his flat, paper in hand, learning that his friends were dead, that
the world was in a tizzy because a baby hadn't died, and feeling utterly
betrayed by everyone. The memory seemed to stick, and then skip like a broken
record. Playing back the utter loss and desolation. The anger at having to
discover that his world had fallen apart from a fucking paper. The ache of
being so annoyingly alone, despite the fact that it was the way he'd thought
he'd wanted things.
"Protego!" He'd underestimated the boy, and he knew immeadiately
that he should have known better. Stupid move, really. He'd put too much stock
in his own abilities and put too little faith in Harry's willingness to give
the spell a try.
Hazy memories bounced back at him. Harry sitting alone in the corner of a
school yard holding a dirty sock like a house-elf while wearing a party hat
that surely had been pulled out of the bottom of a rubbish bin. Harry holding
the crumbling, broken half of a rubber bouncy ball as he watched his cousin
open Christmas presents. The boy wistfully watching kids playing a pick up game
of football in a field, but never joining in.
"Stop," he said quietly, reaching across to pull down Harry's wand as
he put his own on the table. Harry didn't say a word as he stared back at
Remus. "What did you see?" Because he wasn't under the impression that he was
so well trained at this that Harry hadn't been able to see any of it. He'd most
likely only gotten snatches of a memory here and there.
And so maybe the question was double edged. Because Remus wasn't sure he wanted
the child to recall any of what had flitted through his mind. His memories were
private. Their pain was to be suffered in the quiet of his own solitude and
they were never intended for anyone's mind other than his own.
"My parents." Harry's voice was low, and even in the sunshine that was
filtering through the open window, Harry's complexion looked a bit ashen.
"What did you think about when I told you that you had control over the type of
memories that would surface?" Because, after all, this was a lesson, no matter
how much he botched it up. Although, he half suspected he already knew what
Harry's answer would be. And it irked him. The kid could have just asked.
"I wanted to find memories that you had of them." Harry pushed back in his
chair, slumping his arms over his chest a bit defensively, and Remus watched
the wary resentment that was becoming irritatingly familiar on the boy's face
reappear. "You thought I was a mistake."
"I thought the timing was bad," Remus tried clarifying, but Harry didn't seem
to be buying it. And honestly? Remus wasn't going to argue the point to
exhaustion with the kid. That wasn't the reason that they were sitting at this
table, and it wasn't his place. Not to mention that they weren't Harry's
memories and that the boy wasn't old enough to understand the kind of gravity
the situation had held at the time. "Can you think of what the connection was
between my last memory and the memories the Sheild Charm instigated in you?"
"Yeah," Harry returned with a sneer. "I got too close for comfort and you got
your revenge."
Shooting the boy a pained glance, he bit back a sigh. "How did I extract it?
What kinds of memories did you recall?" When the kid rolled his eyes, Remus gave
up trying to get the answer out of him through that line of questioning. "What
was the last memory you got out of my head about?"
"The day you found out that my parents were dead and all that was left was me."
There was bitterness in the kid's voice that Remus didn't know how to ease.
Because, honestly? He had felt that way in all the confusion. Lily and James
would never have died if it hadn't been for Harry. They never would have fit
the prophecy, Voldemort never would have come after them, and he wouldn't have
been left with nothing and no one when their world fell apart. "You hated that
you'd been left alone." Remus shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the truth
behind the words.
"And how does that connect with the memories that the Sheild Charm brought
forth?"
"Loneliness," Harry finally spat out in absolute certainty. "You were lonely in
that memory, and it brought out the lonely memories in me when you cast the
spell."
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::You know, I don't know that I ever thought about what you went through
when all that happened.::
"Why would you? You never were particularly perceptive when it came to me, and
you had a hell of a lot of other shit to deal with at the time."
::Hey, I can be just as perceptive as you can, you two-faced prat.::
"Oh please. I fancied you for years, and you never once picked up on any of the
hints I dropped. Hell, Lily had it figured out by the third hint, and while it
took James forever and I'm pretty convinced Lily helped him figure it out, he
caught on eventually too. Even Peter knew what was up by the time we were neck
deep in the Order. You were the one who never seemed to get it. Or, I don't
know, maybe you did and you thought it was funny. Maybe you laughed at me
behind my back about it. Maybe, just maybe, you're as two-faced as I am."
::You fancied me? How the bloody hell was I supposed to know that? My god,
you paranoid git, there is subtlety and then there is total obscurity.::
"Subtlety is, was, completely lost on you. Besides, it's not like it matters
anyway. You're gone and it's a moot point."
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